


fall back in your arms

by ohcinnamon



Series: the fallen - winged!fob au [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Protective Patrick, read the note at the beginning if you want this to make sense!, winged!fob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: Being out here without Joe and Andy to help protect Pete is basically a suicide mission. If they come back, he’s screwed. He knows all of this.And yet he curls in closer to Pete anyway, the gun skittering to the sidewalk beside them as it falls out of his back pocket. He loves Pete too much to leave him, could never live with himself if he walked away.





	fall back in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone - welcome to the beginning of my winged!fob series!
> 
> just so you know, these oneshots/fics are NOT in chronological order. however, i will be posting the date at the top of every part so that you can get a general idea of when these events are occurring. 
> 
> **important:** if you actually want to understand this fic and its' circumstances, read [this post.](http://trohmenace.tumblr.com/post/163933751212/wingedfob-au) it explains everything from how feather colors work to different headcanons. as always, thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy.
> 
> (title from "fall back in your arms" by guytano)

_July 2005 -_

Patrick hears the scream ring out all the way from the back of the apartment, two floors up from the street.

Joe and Andy are gone - taking the van in for repairs, and Pete had just left about half an hour ago to walk to the corner market for groceries. He’s got the apartment to himself, and he’s trying to work out something new with one of the lyric notebooks Pete had left him, but nothing is really coming to mind. It’s the middle of the summer - the perfect time for an inspiration block. He almost decides to take a walk, something to clear his head and get the music flowing, but everything changes in an instant.

He drops the guitar when he hears the scream, jumps to his feet immediately, because he _knows_ that voice. He couldn’t forget it if he tried - it’s Pete.

Even though Patrick doesn’t know what’s going on, he has a pretty good idea. A lot of people have gotten more vocal about their disdain for their kind, whatever humans have nicknamed them now - angels, the fallen, winged, _whatever_ \- and he has no doubt that if one of those assholes saw one of them alone in the street, he’d attack. It’s just that...well, he didn’t really think this day would ever come, but here he is, fearing for Pete’s life.

He goes flying into Andy’s room, knocking over anything in his way, to desperately paw through his nightstand to find the backup gun he knows that the redhead keeps in case of emergencies. Upon digging all the way to the bottom, he finally finds it - loaded, thankfully - and jumps back to his feet as quickly as possible. He’s not normally one to break into a sprint, but he doesn’t even close their front door behind them as he runs to Pete’s aid.

He comes crashing down the stairs, Andy’s spare pistol clutched in his shaking hands, and kicks the building’s front door open with a force so sudden that he himself is surprised when it flings open. The attackers - no, not one, but _five_ \- leap away from Pete when they see the gun, flashing wild, scared eyes at Patrick. He immediately plants himself in front of Pete, calling on all the courage he has not to faint right now.

“ _Get the fuck away from him!_ ” Patrick shouts, cocking the gun with unsteady fingers. One of the men gulps, sweat dripping down his forehead, and Patrick aims the gun at him.“Get the fuck out of here! Get out!”

They stand silent for a minute, before Patrick aims a little bit to the right, and his finger closes over the trigger, firing a shot at a nearby tree. “You heard me! _Leave_!” The guy nearest to him instantly stumbles away, tearing off down the street, not even bothering to look back to see if his buddies are following him. Thankfully, they all seem to take his cue, retreating hastily to farther down the block. Patrick doesn’t take his eyes off of them until they’re mere specks in the distance, keeps the gun raised until the very last second.

He shakily shoves the gun into his back pocket, watches as the last of the attackers sprints out of sight, and tries to prepare himself for what he’s going to see.

He’s not prepared, though - he doesn’t really think he could ever be prepared to see anyone, especially Pete, like that. Pete’s the one that’s got the most fight of them all, and he’s splayed across the concrete like he’s completely broken. Their groceries are gone, bags ripped and spilling onto the street like someone had simply dropped them. In contrast, dark, bloody feathers are scattered beneath Patrick’s feet, and his heart sinks when he realizes where all the blood is coming from. One of his wings is bent at an unnatural angle, slick blood glistening on the feathers surrounding it. It’s broken, for sure - and Patrick has no idea what to do in the case of a broken wing.

He sinks to the ground beside Pete’s collapsed form, trying to slow the racing of his pulse. Pete sits up to meet him, but cries out in pain as soon as he moves. The sound of it rips Patrick’s heart right in half, and he reaches out to stop Pete from injuring himself any farther.

“Don’t move!” He exclaims, holding Pete’s shoulders in place. “You could hurt yourself more. I can’t…” His voice trails off, and he closes his eyes, takes a minute to collect his frantic thoughts. “I can’t believe those _bastards_ would do that to you!”

Pete tries to calm him down as much as possible, even with blood soaking through his clothes and dripping off of his feathers in tiny rivulets. “ _Shh_ , Patrick, it’s okay, I promise - it’s just blood, I’m okay, I’m gonna be okay, it’s all right -”

“How could it be all right?” Patrick cries out, voice raw with pain. “They _broke your wing_ , Pete, they hurt you, they did this to you - that’s not okay. That could never be okay.”

“Trick, baby, breathe,” Pete says, holding a hand up to stop him. “It looks worse than it is. We’ll be able to get this taken care of, I promise, we just have to wait for the guys to get back - Andy knows more about patching me up than the rest of us combined.”

“Is there any way we can move you right now without breaking your wing even more?” Patrick asks, gently skimming his fingers over Pete’s frayed, dark feathers. Hot blood trickles over them, and he shivers at the feeling. “I don’t want you to be out in the street like this. You’re too vulnerable. You couldn’t defend yourself like this. It scares me.”

Pete shakes his head, and Patrick’s heart sinks. “Not by yourself, you can’t. It’s going to take all three of you to get me out of here without jostling the wing too much. If we move now, it’s only going to get worse.”

“So what do I do?” Patrick asks, knotting his hair into his fists in frustration. “Just sit here and do nothing while you bleed all over the concrete? I don’t think so!”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Pete tries to reassure him, gently cupping Patrick’s face in one hand. His dark eyes are unusually soft, gaze focused on Patrick like he’s the only thing he can see. It shoots pain right through Patrick’s shoulders and down his spine. “You’re going to worry yourself to death, babe. Go back inside, wait for Joe and Andy to get here before we try anything.”

“Shut up,” Patrick mumbles, the dread at the back of his mind growing exponentially. “You would do the same thing if this happened to me. Don’t even act like you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, but you’re more valuable than me - the most valuable one here, really. Gotta keep you alive.” Pete smiles at him sadly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and a flare of anger rushes through his veins.

“Oh, no,” Patrick murmurs, clenching his hands into fists. Pete jerks back, startled, and Patrick’s head snaps up to meet his eyes. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to tell me your life isn’t more valuable than mine. You don’t get to put yourself on the line for me. I care about you too much for that.”

“Go back upstairs, Patrick,” Pete begs quietly, tears leaving streaks through the dirt and drying blood on his face. “Please, _please_ go back upstairs so I know you’ll be safe.”

“Don’t do this,” Patrick warns him, voice both more terrified and more assertive than he’s ever heard it before. “Don’t get all ‘self-sacrificing’ on me. You’re not a martyr, asshole, I’m not letting you do this.”

“I’ll be okay until the others get back,” Pete says, trying to hold back a wince to make himself seem convincing. It doesn’t work on Patrick at all. “When they get back, we can figure out how to move me. And I’ll be fine, I promise - I just need to know that you’re safe.”

Patrick fights back the tears welling up in his eyes, shaking his head angrily. “ _No_ , I’m staying here with you. I don’t care, Pete. _I don’t care._ ”

“ _Patrick_.” It’s all he says, that one word, but the raw, unguarded emotion in his voice speaks volumes. Patrick feels an overwhelming sense of love crash over him, making his chest fill and hold, and at that moment, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He ignores Pete’s protest, instead moving closer to him, and gently wraps him in an embrace. He wants to - no, _has_ to - feel that Pete is okay, that he’s still warm and solid and, most of all, alive.

“I love you,” Patrick whispers, refusing to let go. If anyone, or anything, wants to come for Pete, it’ll have to go through him first. “I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It’s so far from the truth, such a stretched version of reality, that neither of them really believes it, but Pete gives up on protesting and sinks into him. It’s all they have for now.

Patrick’s wings are by far the weakest and flimsiest of all of them - he knows this. They’re soft and pretty, but they’re nowhere near as durable as Pete’s - and if Pete’s wings couldn’t stand the attackers’ force, then his sure as hell won’t. They could crush him ten times more easily. Being out here without Joe and Andy to help protect Pete is basically a suicide mission. If they come back, he’s screwed. He knows all of this.

And yet he curls in closer to Pete anyway, the gun skittering to the sidewalk beside them as it falls out of his back pocket. He loves Pete too much to leave him, could never live with himself if he walked away. He presses his face into Pete’s shoulder, chest heaving with silent sobs, and wraps his flimsy, fragile wings around the both of them, praying to whatever God there is that Joe and Andy will get home in time.


End file.
